Golden Darkness
by Matita Pere
Summary: Chapter 6 up. Galadriel and Sauron meet in Eriador, in the Second Age. A what if story..
1. Default Chapter

Hello! All characters belong to the Master, Tolkien, and I have no claim on them whatsoever.  
  
Now about this story: It arose from my feelings of frustration regarding galadriel's lukewarm (at best) relationship with Celeborn (or as Tolkien himself insisted: Teleporno). Galadriel seems as such a complex character, and Celeborn is too unidimensional and simple for my taste. That is why I decided to give her a more worthy partner, someone to match both her power and intelligence, someone as old as her, as wise as her. And, best of all, what any girls dreams of: a tall, dark stranger.  
  
The story is R rated, since there are adult situations coming up.  
  
GOLDEN DARKNESS  
It was a soft, warm evening, and the world seemed to be painted in pastel. The sun was almost setting, and the trees swayed in a gentle end-of-the- summer breeze. Galadriel stood by a small pool that was created around a fountain, in one of the many gardens of Eriador. The town that was built there was not one of towers and fortresses, but of many spacious houses on slopping hills, connected together by walks and lanes shaded by trees. The water in the pool glistened in the last golden rays of the sun, and it reflected her image, tall and slender, clothed in gray and violet, her hair picked up in a loose bun, gently brushing around her face.  
  
She stood there silently, gazing at the water, thinking.  
  
It had been seven years since she had come to Eriador. She had not meant to stay so long, but there was something so amusing and playful in Annatar's eyes, something so intriguing in his rascalish smile, something so wild in his black hair, long and uneven, falling around his face. A fun face. He could be so serious at times, and so childish at others, confusing her. And he laughed often, and had a way of picking up one eyebrow in a gesture of astute mischief that she found so charming. Annatar was all intriguing.  
  
He seemed not to care about almost anything, except for the things he made, but she knew full well he was well versed in everything that happened in the city. He seemed to be so calm and controlled, but she had seen him wild and unstoppable. He was always playful, but at times, a shadow crossed his face. He tried to look meek and unimportant, but Galadriel sensed the inner power he held, and the yearning to use it.  
  
Annatar was friendly to everyone, and talked to all. Most of the other elves found his company easy, for he told many and amusing stories, and was always in high spirits, but he didn't have any close friends, and didn't really speak to anyone, at least didn't before she had come.  
  
The first time she had seen him, they were both at an evening gathering. The Elf-Lord of Eriador had convoked it to greet her, and bid her welcome, and the better part of the evening she spent with him, telling him of Elrond and Gil-Galad, and the Kingdoms of the North, of the journey and the roads, and the news from abroad. As the night passed, the company grew merrier, and the music ushered, and all were enchanted, and everything seemed to mix and glide in a pleasant harmony of tones and sparkle, and laughter and wine.  
  
Galadriel had been standing next to a column, alone, listening to the voices and the song, and moved toward the corner of the great hall in a dreamy state, thinking of her friends left back in the north, and planning her next journey. She stopped in thought for a while, and only when she sprang from it, minutes later, did she notice the handsome dark lord sitting at a table further from the center of the merriment, sipping red wine from a golden goblet.  
  
He was alone, too, although she was sure she had seen him talking to someone before. He didn't seem to notice her, and was watching the to and fro of the elven folk in the hall, but caught her glance as she stared at him. He raised his cup, and greeted her, in a friendly, but slightly disinterested manner. This bothered her, for SHE had found him interesting.  
  
For a moment, she thought of not returning his greeting. It was only a moment, but enough to intrigue Annatar. He had for a while been worried that his true identity was known to some of the company, and suddenly, her being from the north, a Noldo lady of considerable power, born to the light of Aman, made her immediately dangerous to him. Her lack of courtnesness astounded him.  
  
Galadriel raised her cup, and smiled down at him, but he took time to slip back into his usual happy mood. He looked at her suspiciously, and made a motion with his hand, signaling to the chair next to him, as a test.  
  
He was sure she'd decline. It was not a proper offer from an elf lord to an elf lady, not even in an informal gathering such as this one was, specially if they had not been properly introduced before. It could be considered rude, and a provocation, if done publicly. He was quite certain she'd be offended, and leave. Galadriel, however, was so lost in thought, and surprised by Annatar, that she didn't even twitch at this invitation. Something in him awoke her curiosity, and she walked up to him, and sat on the offered chair almost mechanically, not taking her eyes of his.  
  
Those eyes seemed to switch constantly between deep green and golden yellow, and she was sure she had seen them somewhere before. He was dangerous, she felt immediately, and uncertain, and wild. But so unlike anyone she had ever met before, so different, so new, she just had to stay and stare.  
  
Galadriel's sitting next to him shocked Annatar, to say the least. H was used to being courteous, but cold with most elven ladies. They were not as important as the lords, and he didn't think them worthy of his company. Most he thought devoid of any real courage or intelligence, pretty vessels to ornament elven homes. This lady was different. Simply dressed, no jewelry, her hair tied in a bun, eyes dreamy and intelligent, she was different. He knew her for a Noldo, one of the Maia Melian's company, sister to some of the most important elven lords to have ever walked these shores. But she was simple and remote. Her gaze was at once intent and distracted, and he realized that like him, she spent most of her time in her own thoughts. He wandered what she was thinking.  
  
"Did I know you from before, lady?" He decided to ask, changing his entire attitude anew, now courtly and formal, but nonetheless friendly. This was so fake, however, she fidgeted.  
  
"Yes.." she softly said, something sharp in her eyes now. " We do know each other."  
  
" Ah, and I forget from where!" Annatar exclaimed " Mine is not a sharp memory. If you would be so kind as to refresh it, I would be obliged to you. Forgive my disabilities first, though, lady, I am most impolite not to remember such a person as yourself". His voice was now sweeter.  
  
This bothered her even more. " I do not know." She said, now more sober. Annatar was surprised by the answer. " I cannot tell" She continued " But I do know you, I know I do..".  
  
" Then we shall both let memories rest. Let's meet anew, and not forget it. I am Annatar, my lady, and wholly at your service." He bowed a little as he said this, relieved at her not remembering. She stared at him for a while.  
  
" Annatar." She said " Annatar. No, I do not recall. I am Galadriel".  
  
" This is a great pleasure to me, Lady Galadriel. I have heard so well of you! You have been gladly expected by the Lords." Annatar tried his sweetest tone with her. It was not working, except to repulse her further.  
  
" Annatar" She repeated " I have never heard of you."  
  
He was surprised at such a statement, but relieved. Gil-Galad and Cirdan knew his name, and warned against it. He thought she might have heard it also. Perhaps the elven alliances were not as strong as he deemed them? Galadriel continued gazing at him. He disturbed her profoundly. His moves, his voice, his words they were all so calculated to mislead, to enchant, to deceive, but why she did not know. That he was no elf, that was evident. What and who he was, was a mystery, though.  
  
"And how is it that you are here?' She asked. This was properly impolite, but she did not care. She needed to know.  
  
" I am but a working elf, my lady, at the service of the lords of the town" He answered, a glistening in his strange eyes.  
  
She stared at him for a few seconds, and then got up, and left, leaving him stunned and disappointed. It was the oddest reaction he had ever caused, and it bothered him immensely. He needed to hide his identity, only for a little longer now, just a little. 


	2. Chapter 2

That same night, after the merriment was over, Galadriel sat at the balcony of the large corridor, staring at the garden and the stars above. She was thinking about Annatar, those odd eyes, and the fake smile, the black hair and the noble figure. She shivered as she felt a gaze upon her, and turned to se him standing, alone, dark, crouched in the shadow by the wall. They were alone here, and the night was getting darker. The stars sparkled piercingly, but distantly above. A sense of danger, a scent of cold wind shook her, and she turned on the balcony, and gazed at him. His eyes were glowing in the dark, a wolfish aspect to the manner he stood.  
  
" You are frightening me." She told him. Annatar stirred. She said things he did not expect. Of course he frightened her, it was the purpose, and yet not the main purpose. He needed to be rid of her, a paranoid sensation of being discovered infiltrating his thoughts. And the night was dark, and the gardens deserted. He could be rid of her easily, a slender elven lady, no trace would be left. A scandal, a disappearance, a sad story, or a strange one. Did she simply leave? In the drunken state everyone was, it would be difficult to notice who had and who had not been there, when she walked out from the party, who she had spoken to. They had both talked in an odd corner of the hall, when the night was well past its middle, and no one had seen them.  
  
" Good." He said, a tone of soft menace and a dark brooding. He moved silently toward her, the golden glow of the eyes shading into a red.  
  
" It is not such a beautiful night" she said, disregarding the menace in his voice and manner. " The evening had been lovely, but the night isn't. The breeze is cold, and the air is dark. Do you like the dark?' Her voice was soft, like velvet, and soothing. Her eyes, the softest almond, gazed up at him as he stood now close, dark and tall, his mouth a thin line of mockery and contempt.  
  
" Ay. I am the dark" He whispered, leaning in on her, thinking how to.  
  
Galadriel did not back away. She sensed the danger, sensed it full well. She new she had no chance of escaping him, he was to strong, and too quick. But it was not only that. It was the warmth. He was not cold, as she had expected. He was warm, a glow emanating from him, as of a fire within. And the breeze was chilly and unfriendly, and she needed confort. A touch maybe. She suddenly felt small, and lonely, and misunderstood. The world was large, and menacing, and all others expected was her to be strong, to not need anyone. She reached her hand up, and as he leaned in, his eyes glowing, his mouth opening slightly in a grin or to bite, but then she touched his face.  
  
He stopped, astounded. The soft touch upon his cheek, the warm hand, and the gentle eyes, soft and brown, gazing at him from some private dream of hers. So surprising. He had expected distrust, repulsion, fear, horror and death, at length, as she struggled in his arms as a caught rabbit, as she tried to yank from his wolf teeth and he tore her, an enemy, an elf, into tiny shards.  
  
He realized, suddenly, he had never before attacked a lady. Except Luthien, but she was half-maia, of his own kind, and that was long ago, and not a pleasant memory. Galadriel held her hand on his face, and then lifted herself up from the balcony, and stood next to him, very, very close. She smelt of green leaves, he felt.  
  
Annatar gazed down, the deadly red disappearing from his eyes. She was not afraid. Or repulsed. She looked simply sad, and lost, and lonely. The spell ended then, suddenly. She put her hand down, and turned, and left slowly down the corridor, her head low, and her steps unsure. He stared after her, for a few moments, and then followed, surprised and amazed, at both her, and himself.  
  
" Where are you going?" He asked, intending to stop her.  
  
She answered gently and sadly. " To my chambers. Or to the kitchen. I need something to drink, maybe."  
  
He followed her. " Why do you dislike me?" She suddenly asked. Annatar was surprised. He didn't trust her, of course. She was an enemy. He could feel contempt, or even hate. But dislike? No, that was not what he felt. In fact, he thought, it may be the opposite. He actually did like her. She was different, and soft, and dreamy. She reminded him, well, he should not be saying this to himself, but it was true, she did remind him. Of Aman. Of Aman long ago, when he had not yet touched the shore of Middle Earth. Of the days in the golden light, and the sound of voices and music far off. Maybe of home. " I do not dislike you" he said, in a normal voice now. "Why would you think my hating you has anything to do with my dislike?"  
  
" So you don't dislike me?" She stopped, and faced him. This was dangerous, he had been intent on murdering her minutes ago, and probably still had the intention. Not out of a disturbed need for violence, she judged, but from a sense of menace. She menaced him, she realized, and wandered why.  
  
"No." he answered simply, gazing down at her eyes. She looked unsure.  
  
" If you do not dislike me, why do you want to hurt me?" She breathed out, scared.  
  
" I cannot have an enemy here, now, lady" He said. Interesting, he thought, I am speaking to my prey. She looked, suddenly, her golden hair still in the loose bun, as a soft lamb for him to take. As a soft angel. He made himself stop. Her eyes were gazing up at him, and he saw in them a softness he suddenly longed for, and this seemed to him weak.  
  
"I am not your enemy." She whispered, and shook her head. ' I would certainly never hurt you"  
  
He considered this. Why would she say such a thing. Why was her voice so broken, and so soft? This was odd, he argued, and it seemed as a dream, in the dark corridor next to the garden. The breeze picked up, and she shivered. Suddenly, he made up his mind, and moved in a quick manner forward, but before he could turn into a wolf, and strike, the strangest thing happened. She slipped her arms around him, and buried her face into his chest, and began sobbing softly. His instincts took over, ones from the other set of thoughts, and he remembered the music of Aman again, the last time anyone held him, and he wrapped his arms around her too. Yes, just like an angel. A dream or a memory from some other time, long past. The voice of his consciousness maybe, soft and sad. She fit well into his embrace, and he felt the warmth flow over him, as she nestled next to him. She had stopped sobbing, now she was just holding him close. He put his head down on hers, suddenly glad he was not alone any more, and the scent of her hair, a feminine, pleasant scent set him into some golden dream. This was much nicer than tearing a victim apart, and then having to do away with the body.  
  
At length, they looked at each other. His distrust had passed, he was glad she had stopped him. And she no longer feared him for some reason, his arms had felt so safe. It had not been him she had feared, she realized, but the thought that he held some crazed darkness within him. He was dangerous, she knew, but not out of madness or real hate. He was calculating, and had a plan, whoever he was, and he had rationally thought he found an enemy in her. And rationally had to eliminate the menace. But not like the wild orcs or the crazy goblins, not like a Balrog in disgust, like an elf would, she thought, with a sense of duty and a sense of distaste. Yes, he was noble. Maybe his goals were not, but he was. Some elder creature, for another world, a lord of old. The music of Aman suddenly voiced in her ears. Could he be, she thought, one of the bright beings form that place, that had come hither to these shores long ago?  
  
He gazed down, as his elven enemy turned into a soft angel. She did not know who he was, and she did not hate, or fear him. Maybe a misunderstanding, he deemed. He would not kill her. No reason to. His arms were still around her, and it was comfortable. " I'm sorry" he muttered. "Let me take you in. It is cold. And I think I could use a drink too." 


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a week since that conversation on the terrace. That night, the Lady had felt odd. It was not one of her usual moods. She was often very careful of how she acted. Being a public figure, and one with a relative amount of power, meant that there were many eyes constantly watching. Any slip up in her social demeanor might mean that she too was capable of mistakes. Weakness was something Lady Galadriel was loathe to show. The years in Middle Earth had been difficult, marked by much strain and hard work. The elven societies were on a path Galariel could not yet fathom. But in her thought, the possibility of loosing everything she had fought for, and for which she had sacrificed all she had: her family, her friends, the life in the bliss of Valimar - was too painful and too frightening to admit. So she had to be certain that in a time of strife - an such times came to often, she sadly concluded, she had enough political support to back her up. And for that, her public persona, her political self, had to remain intact. Her social behavior was therefore marked by this goal: she never lost composure, and to most of the elves, she was a picture of an icy, wise, calm sage: the Great Lady of the Noldo, and among the only who yet lived in Middle Earth to have seen the light of the two trees.  
  
Having shown such weakness to Annatar was out of the ordinary. Galadriel could still not fathom why she had done it. Could it have been the strain of the trip she had just made, which left her weak? Or the loneliness she suddenly felt in that huge hall among the hundred of gathered elves? Or the sense that he, as an older creature, and as a wise person himself, and a lonely one too, could perhaps understand some of her own thoughts? "A kindred spirit", Galadriel thought, remembering Annatar. "A soul mate? .  
  
Annatar had walked Galadriel to the large, comfortable kitchen in that wing of the Eregion palace. It was a cozy place, with several boards where the meals were prepared. The food was cooked in different stoves on different sides of the kitchen, so that the largest amount could be made in the quickest time. Galadriel obediently sat down on one of the tables Annatar motioned her to, and he went about to find something. Soon he returned, with a bottle of wine for himself, and a jar of milk and some honey for her. He then proceeded to light a fire in one of the stoves. Galadriel had sat there in a daze, not really wanting to think of what she was doing. She was loathe to talk to a Lord like this, alone, in the dark. Being very shy, in fact, and never really having come too close to a serious romance in her life, she was not even sure what it was in Annatar that prompted her to hug him like that.  
  
"I must implicitly trust him" she thought "to dare show such weakness, and let him take care of me." Something in his manner, in the way he moved, made her feel strangely at ease with him now. He had been threatening on the terrace, but not as other lord had been in the past - in wrath, when they hated her, or differently, as romantically interested in her, and moving to quickly for her comfort. Annatar was neither. His stance had been of a cool, controlled anger, the anger of having an obstacle in your way. And his reaction to her hug was not a surprised one, or an eager one, or a mocking one, but one of acceptance. And that felt warm and reassuring.  
  
She observed as he made the drink. She could not help but notice he had lit the wood in the stove by merely drawing a flame from the air, it seemed, by simply making a gesture with his hand. She was surprised at that. It was one of the feature of a wizard that you could draw fire from air. In fact, only the wielders of the sacred flames could do it, and it was identified with power. For a second there, Galadriel thought she just imagined it. It was too unreal, and she was probably tired.  
  
In a while the milk was ready, and steamed hot in a mug. Annatar added the honey, and brought it to her. He was holding the mug in his hand, and did not seem to mind the heat, although she had to set it down on the table in front for a while, for she could not hold it.  
  
He sat down opposite to her, making himself comfortable, and pouring the wine into his glass. He looked older, in the light of the flames, with the shadows dancing on his face. He seemed serious, his profile stern, and his eyes shifting colors as the fire moved. She thought him handsome.  
  
"Are you still cold?" He asked at length, looking at her. She raised her eyes from the steaming milk, and looked at him " No, not any more" She then thought for a while "Thank you" she said  
  
'Ah, but what for. The night was cold." He replied.  
  
"And I was acting strange, I admit" Galadriel said "I am sorry. I suppose it was the trip. I am tired, and worried, and I feel weak somehow".  
  
He looked at her, a small, fragile lady sitting before him. Her eyes were down again, and her hands rested in her lap, motionless. She did look tired. He felt the power, though, behind her voice, in her will. And the manner she had acted was not strange, but strangely appealing. He had been grateful for the chance to sit here, next to a fire he loved, and to talk. He rarely had a quiet evening.  
  
"Where did you come from?" He asked, meaning the place she had last stayed in.  
  
"Gil-Galad's kingdom, to the north" She replied. "It is a months journey, at good speed. And the weather was cold".  
  
Annatar seemed amused to talk of traveling, and soon they were engaged in a lively conversation. Annatar seemed to have traveled every road Galadriel mentioned, and he showed a remarkable knowledge of Middle Earth, as if he could see it all in a map before him. He was rather impressed by some of her feats too, night traveling, and fights with goblins. Galadriel grew more amused as they spoke, and the feeling of loneliness gradually left her. He was charming, and swift in his comments, and he seemed to really delight in what he was talking about.  
  
They had not noticed the morning creep in slowly on them. The fire had blazed merrily, and Annatar though it fun to heat the wine and mix it with the honey at some point, over which they laughed. As the first signs of activity in the palace began, he offered to walk her to her chambers. He did not want to leave, in fact, Galadriel had been deeply amusing. Her manner was gentle, and he liked how she stared at him with wide brown eyes as he told her of his trips. She was really appreciating the details, having known many of the paths herself, and he felt, for the first time, as talking to a peer. 


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, Galadriel saw Annatar briefly. The night had been odd and wonderful, but she was afraid it was the result of the wine, the fire and the tiredness, and that the charm would pass as swiftly as it had come.  
  
Annatar was leaving for the smithies in the evening when she saw him, and he looked at her across the number of other elves which were heading there. Celebrimbor was among them, a good friend to Galadriel, and they had spent most of the day together, catching up. Celebrimbor was entertaining, but as he talked to her, explaining that they liked to work at night, for the air was cooler, and the fires in the smithies did not bother them so much that way, she glanced over his shoulder to catch a look of Annatar, whose eyes seemed darker now, in the dimming light.  
  
Annatar smiled, before he turned to leave with the large company. She smiled back, and hoped Celebrimbor had not noticed. Annatar's smile had been reassuring, the sign that the distrust had faded among them, and that he had enjoyed the talk. She was eager, though, to speak to him again.  
  
Suddenly, Celebrimbor's story seemed much more interesting. "Indeed, and this work by night, of which you tell me" she now turned to him, yet still thinking of Annatar "whence do you end it? With the first rays of the sun, I deem?"  
  
Celebrimbor nodded, very satisfied. Galadriel had long been a friend, on her side. On his, the feeling was perhaps deeper. A strong reverence, and a deep wonder and admiration, for what he conceived to be the most beautiful and courageous lady he had ever known. Celebrimbor was of the slow type himself, a rosy-cheeked, massive man, with strong arms and a good natured disposition. He was very intelligent, and a master craftsmen, and greatly respected in Eregion and beyond. Yet his knowledge was more restricted, focusing on the craft of forging, and abandoning all else. He knew little, and cared less, for poetry or song, for books and lore, for long walks or deeds of war. His delight was in the mines, the smithies, the earth, and he loved all things which shone, jewel and precious metals, which he could wield into a shape of his desire.  
  
Yet Galadriel's presence he thought soothing. And although he could not fully understand her spirit, the idea that she might have an interest in what he was doing was very appealing.  
  
"Ay, we leave the forges in the morning. As soon as the sun begins to raise, we take our rest. It is an odd shift, but a better one. Before, we used to work a during the day, but the fires are hotter now, for we forge much, and it is better to do it in the cold night."  
  
Galadriel smiled at him, and wished him a productive evening. She then left, all the while thinking of the morning.  
  
It was early, and the day was not yet white. The towers shone in the first rays of the sunshine which opened on the horizon, and the dew and mists were still heavy. Galadriels stood, deeply wrapped, on the same terrace she had met Annatar several days ago. She had let some time pass, for she did not want to rush anything, but the only time she had seen him since their talk was on that evening as he left for the mines, and she had grown restless to hear his voice again. That morning, she thought to wait for his return from the mines. His chambers were close to hers, in the most comfortable house of the palaces. The hall was the easiest manner of reaching them, and she could look on those which passed by it from the terrace, without having to reveal herself. With the beginning of the day, he came, walking slowly among the pillars, and gazing at a small ring he held in his hand. He seemed lost in thought, as he strode slowly. Galadriel gazed in admiration. He almost seemed to shift, in the cold and the morning mist, into a more animal like shape, as she had seen him on that night seven days ago. A wolf, perhaps. His stride was easy and soft, his eyes on the circlet, his body swaying in a soft motion.  
  
She let him pass her, and then stepped from behind the pillar she had stood by. He felt the motion, no more than that was necessary, and he turned, still lost in thought. She walked to him, unsurely, as it seemed he did not desire company. She felt foolish, suddenly, for thinking there had been any connection between them, or that they might have a chance to repeat that talk. In the morning pale light, he was distant and cold, and she shrank in the sense of defeat and shame. He stared at her, unsure. He did not know what to say. Truly enough, he was tired, and that day was a particularly worrisome one, as the art of the forging of rings was not developing as smoothly as he would have wished it.  
  
" I thought you might want a tea" She said, trying to sound as normal as she could. He thought about this for a while. Tea was one of the drinks he hated. "No." He answered crudely, still fingering the little ring. " Oh!" She replied, without really knowing what to say.  
  
"What would you drink? I'll bring it to you if you'd rather, case you are tired. I felt I had to thank you for that night. And you seem to be working very hard." She almost whispered these last words. She really did not know what to say.  
  
Annatar was amused. " I can have a warm wine again" he concluded, suddenly more cheerful. Galadriels voice, as a soft fountain, reminded him of that night too, and he felt the peace of that fire and the wine they had had as relaxing. The harsh conversation with the smiths, the dialogue with Celebrimbor, the noise of the hammers, and the steady roar of the fire had blocked his ears and his mind. He suddenly wished for her steady murmur, and the thought of putting his feet up on the table, and being able to talk of something else. 


	5. Chapter 5

He bent down smoothly, and then rose over her, his eyes fluttering, but the light in them glowing and warm. He bit his lip, in ecstasy. A soft growling sound came from his throat, a sign of pleasure, fierce pleasure. He moved slowly, his body rocking in a soft rhythm, deep, deep inside her. Galadriel could not speak. Her eyes were filled with tears, and pleasure mixed with gentle pain. She held on to him tightly, not ever wanting to let him go. He was beautiful in the midnight air, that hard beauty, his aquiline features now more stern, as he moved with a purpose. He was like a large cat. She pressed herself closer, and closed her eyes, and let his warmth take her. She felt so safe with him.  
  
Annatar sighted, and lay back on the pillows, pulling Galadriel with him gently, and covering them both in the woolen quilt. The window was opened, and he could feel the breath of night air pouring in, and see the blue stars sparkling in the sky above. He lay and watched them, the sweat on his brow turning cold. Galadriel slumbered on his shoulder, her long golden eyelashes, and her marvelous hair in disarray around him. He fingered it, satisfied.  
  
****************  
  
He had wanted her, genuinely, but the thought that had moved him to be so polite to her, so openly nice, so pleasing, to ask her to dance at all the dances, to sit next to her during the dinners, to speak to her in half-lit hallways and to leave roses on her doorstep every morning, the thought was one of treachery. And of malice. He, Sauron the Great, would have this Noldo queen, and make her his, and after he's had his way with her, he would reveal to her, and to all the others, who he was. And what was his for the taking. He knew that the revelation alone would break her heart. But to mock her and destroy her was his intent.  
  
Was. It was what he began with. And he succeeded pretty well. Galadriel complied with the scheme, unaware of the malice in his moves. She was delighted by his gifts, by his attention, by his humor, by his charm. He took her for long walks, told her of lands far away, lied of the future he desired. She was fascinated.  
  
It did not take long for them to come together. It was a rainy night, they were walking back from the study, where they had had some wine. He took her hand at the leaving, before her chambers, and kissed it, and pressed it to his heart. He said " I had another marvelous evening, my lady. I shall cherish the memory of you until breakfast tomorrow. 7:30? We can then go for a short stroll."  
  
She laughed, and looked at him fondly, and then came a bit closer. " I cannot wait till the morning then" She said, smiling up at him, and he took her other hand, holding them both now, and pulling her near. He kissed them , gazing into her eyes all the time. There was mirth there, and such light. Her face was beautiful, the long golden hair framing it. She was small and fragile, a delicate flower, scented on peaches. He pulled her into an embrace.  
  
They stood there for a while. The hall was dark, and the open terrace next to it made it chill and damp. Sauron listened to the fall of the rain, the lightning flaring above occasionally, and the howling of wolves on the hills far off. His wolves. He thought of them, for a moment, the wet animals in the dark, cold storm. He would be running with them now, a wolf himself, if he had no other plans, more malicious and cunning in design. His was a fierce disposition, and a drive to override all obstacles.  
  
Galadriel embraced him, a warm, soft sensation. He looked down at her, and made for one of his most charming smiles, but than she said something he would remember in many years to come: "Do you hear the wolves?"  
  
He nodded, surprised. She had a manner of saying things he could not expect anyone to. It had been so on their first meeting, and then ever since. And he could never really trace what she was thinking off, or how precisely she felt.  
  
She went on " They howl so! But they seem content. Perhaps they like this storm, and the cold. I deem they do. Their fur is long, and they do not fear the wet or the chill. They are free, running wild in the night. Eyes ablaze. I know, Annatar, I shall dream tonight I am running with a pack, in the night."  
  
He looked at her, thoroughly amazed. Her eyes were dim, as if she was recalling something. Fear overtook him suddenly. Fear of being found out, of her slipping from his grip, just now, now that he was so close, almost tasting the victory over her mind, and her heart. Fear of the other elves, of a sudden voice asking him to reveal himself, or a battle, and his leaving: too soon, much too soon before his plans had reached their maturity.  
  
The rings had not yet been forged.  
  
"Rubbish, my dear" He said, in a soothing manner, as he kissed the top of her head.  
  
There were no sounds, and after a while he was convinced they were indeed alone in that corridor by the terrace, in the dark.  
  
He brought her closer into an embrace. She had put her head onto his chest, and was now gazing into the falling rain beyond the terrace.  
  
"There is nothing good of running with wolves" He said softly, thinking to himself.  
  
" Nay. " She responded. "But the terrace is open. I suppose they would not dare come this close, or jump on it, but I always half expect a pack to come in the night, and burst my doors open. And the wind, and the rain and the pack of wolves will come flying into my rooms, and I shall sit up in my bed, and scream."  
  
Her voice was distant, and afraid, and her eyes, as he looked down into them, frightened and opened wide. She bowed her head, and placed it on his chest again, closing her eyes now. She felt small in his arms.  
  
He comforted her, using an even softer voice. " I shall hear, and come running. And shall slay them all, and close the doors. You need not even get up." It was his best attempt to sound carefree and sympathetic. He assumed this was something an elven Lord of good breeding would say to a frightened Lady, in the middle of the night. Galadriel winced.  
  
He looked down at her, smiling, but she did not return it.  
  
"The night is cold. You would not hear, I think. No, I do not look at you for rescue, Lord Annatar. If the pack comes, I shall have to face it alone. But I know, I know, I shall meet with these wolves ere my stay here is ended. And there will be rain. And blood in the darkness." Her voice was soft, but stern and powerful. She knew it was a prophecy, what she had just said. How odd it all seemed, for she had ever expected that the man she loved would be someone to walk her paths with her. Annatar was not it. He would not be there, in the chilling night, when she fought the pack.  
  
She felt she could cry, then, for she saw it all full well. And the light in Annatar's eyes spoke to her, if his voice was ever soft. That light, the unquenching glow, was the same glow she had seen in the face of a wolf, many years ago. A glow she would never forget. And it stared down at her now, from the face of the most charming man.  
  
How do you love something you fear?  
  
Sauron did not know what to say. The eyes looking up at him were thoughtful, and Galadriel seemed to be remembering something. Attempting to impress her, the wise lady of the Noldo, with cheap jokes, and ready made romance was useless, he had found. She only smiled or laughed when he told her something genuine, a real story, or a real concern. He could be graceful, and sweet, and she responded to his shows of affection, seeming in fact starved for such things at times, but not to false words. He felt her shiver next to him, so he held her tightly, subconsciously not wanting her to be cold.  
  
She felt so fragile in his arms.  
  
He was pensive now. She was aware, he suddenly realized, that she could not trust him, or expect his aid. She was not giving herself to him, and this bothered him. It had been his plan to make her dependent, to take her completely, and then drop her, and mock her, and destroy her. But Galadriel had spoken: in the night, she would stand to his pack alone, knowing it beforehand.  
  
He began to rock her softly, thinking of this. It took courage, he knew, to stand alone in the dark. He knew it all too well.  
  
And he told her so. Then she looked up, and there was a light in her eyes. "Will you be alone tonight, Lord Annatar, in this rain and fog, and the dreary darkness?" She asked, her voice clear and piercing.  
  
"I will" he responded softly, gazing into the light of her face.  
  
" Do you want that? Or do you prefer company?" It was an odd question, and he did not answer immediately. She went on. "Let's not speak of the night and the wolves. Let's sleep, and have breakfast tomorrow together."  
  
Her voice was now soft, and the glow around her warm. He pulled her close, feeling her body next to his. She was slender, her small waist easily fitting the grasp of his strong arm. He pulled her closer still, until he felt her whole against him. Suddenly, he ached to have her. His manhood began to stir painfully, and his eyes took a dark shade.  
  
She gazed up, lost in his eyes. They became private storms, and she did not know what he was thinking. But the hand around her waist felt so strong, his chest heaving next to her comforting, and he was warm, warm as always, and she did not want to be by herself, in the huge cold room that was given to her.  
  
Annatar was a storm, she knew. He had the eyes of the wolves she feared. And his manner was odd, and unbeknownst to him, dangerous. There were those, among the elves, that feared him. He would look, at times, as a dark wizard, his eyebrows meshing together, his eyes in that black blaze, his lips curled in mockery and treachery. And yet when he smiled, the world smiled, for its most beautiful son, and for the fire that was in him.  
  
What would it be to have the storm for herself, if only for a while? He was so exquisite, as a dangerous ride, as a wild flame, as the feeling of bitter and sweet.  
  
"Come with me." She said " I need someone who can light a good fire."  
  
She had led him to her chambers, not without feeling odd. She had never done that before, had a Lord stay over. Always very private, she had maintained a distance from everyone. But Annatar was different, and although she did not feel safe with him, that night, for some reason, she yearned to feel him next to her, and to have that blazing fire consume her. He suited her, tall and dark and moody. And yet as they walked into her rooms, it was odd. She suddenly felt frightened of what he could do. Annatars eyes sparkled, and a smile played on his lips.  
  
Mine for the taking, he thought, the feeling of the wolf pack around him.  
  
He went to the fireplace, and surely, soon enough, a merry flame lit, and the room grew aglow. The light of the candles mixed with the fire's flames, and there was a woody scent stemming from the fireplace. Galadriel went to the room next to that one, while he took a seat before the fire, opening a bottle she had pointed to previously. The wine was good, rich, red and delightful. He took a glass, and drank it all almost in a gulp. Saying one was going to charm a woman into compliance was one thing, doing so another. He did not want to admit this to himself, but he was frightened. Frightened of his ownmanner. He should not be too hasty. Or too uncaring. Or overtly sensitive. He should sway her into wanting more and yet use her enough to make it hurt later, and to make her forever ashamed.  
  
These thoughts and plans slowly dissipated as she emerged from the room, dressed in a flowing satin gown. Her hair was down, rich and beautiful, as a golden cloak, and a soft smile floated on her lips. They were wet and glistening, rosy and inviting, and she sat next to him, in the armchair, and smiled. He handed her a cup, without a word, and felt foolish, and insecure. What was he doing? Tricking elven lords into believing he was one of them was one thing. Convincing a woman to love him was another.  
  
Yet she needed no conviction. She slid over to him herself, after drinking the wine, and kissed him softly on the lips. This was enough for Sauron, since the nervousness had made him upset and eager. She was tender and warm next to him, and as he placed his arms around her again, she sank into the kiss. It was softer than any before, and he opened his mouth, letting their tongues caress, something he hadn't done before.  
  
Days later, Sauron could not explain that night to himself. They had certainly not reached such a level of intimacy before that, that she would simply invite him to her room, and then proceed to wildly love him. He had thought that it would take a long time, many, many months, perhaps years of courting, before such a thing might happen. And yet he had to admit to himself. Galadriel was no elven princess. She was a queen, and of a mighty will.  
  
It had happened so suddenly.. And then his own feelings and actions. He had let it all take him, and he did not really know what he was doing. But once they lay in her bed, warm beneath the sheets, all he remembered were her eyes, the merry fire blazing next to them, her body next to his, so close, so inviting, so pleasant. It was all too natural, they seemed to know what the other wanted. He had taken her then, over and over. He could not stop himself, and all he wished for was for time to stand still, for them to remain like that, alone, in the warm room, in the glow of the fire, forever. For all past to be erased, and for him to be just hers. He was grateful, in a way.  
  
Galadriel had not sleep that night, but lay next to him, exhausted, and sleepy, and happy. She caressed him softly, and talked gently to him, and they drank the rest of the wine, and kissed. They went for breakfast together, and he could not take his eyes of her. And then for the stroll, and he found himself holding her to him, as they went into parts of the gardens where there were no others.  
  
Later that day, in the mines, he though of it with a sensation of victory: she had been his. Not as he thought, but perhaps even more so. All night he spent in her, with her, and he remembered her moans with triumph as he worked on the steaming iron. He smiled in mockery, and it was cruel. Yet that night, after the work was done, he came to her again, and he was pulled into her warmth.  
  
It had been perhaps better then the first night: they laid in bed, he smoking a pipe, and she stroking him, pampering him, and they talked for long, in soft voices. He felt he could just relax, and let go, for her voice was soothing, and the nights they spet together conformable. 


	6. Chapter 6

"My Lords, much has happened in the past years of our cooperation. You have granted me much joy, in the sight of your works, much fulfillment, in allowing me to teach what little I know, much happiness, in the quiet bliss of your home, and such pleasure, in yours, the warmest of company" Annatar's voice flowed over the cheerful company, as he walked around the massive wooden table, where a gathering of the mightiest of Eriador now met.  
  
Celebrimbor sat on one end at the head of the table, and he looked pleased and quiet, his large brown eyes shining peacefully behind huge eyebrows, his massive hands posited around his cup. He was clad in brown and gray, and his curly brown hair, equal to his beard, was very similar to a dwarfs.  
  
Annatar was holding his cup in his hand, and pacing slowly around the table, from his end, where he had been placed in the seat of honor for that evening, to where Celebrimbor sat. He had called for a toast, and all cups were raised, merry eyes staring at him.  
  
Galadriel, in the midst of the elven folk, could also not take her eyes away from him. It surprised her how suddenly he could do things like that. She was shocked by his ease to gather all attention to himself, as if that was only natural. He oozed charm, his moves slick and soft, his pace elegant, his cup held just right, his voice soft and rich, and husky, a melody of power within it.  
  
Celebrimbor seemed pleased enough, Galadriel noticed. She thought about it, and decided she would never like to be in Celebrimbor's position. Annatar was approaching him, a smile on his handsome face, his cup raised, and Galadriel thought for a moment he looked like a large, elegant wolf that could strike easily. It was a wonder how much he reminded her of specific animals at times. No, she decided, she would never want Annatar to point her out in the crowd like he just did Celebrimbor, and to walk toward her in the manner he walked now.  
  
Annatar continued, his voice a melody. "To Celebrimbor, mightiest of the elven-smiths! And to the deeds of today and of the days which have preceded them: to the gold we have combined, the first one from which the rings shall be made! And to the days before us, my lords and ladies, to the peace in Middle Earth, and to the Light of the Trees upon its fair face!" Annatar stood by Celebrimbor's chair, and raised the cup high. Celebrimbor got up, in the fashion of the Eregion elves, and bowed, and then drank from his cup. The elves cheered, and the cups where drained.  
  
And Galadriel watched. No, he hadn't. She had observed, and Annatar hadn't drunk. In the ruckus that ensued, with cheering and commenting, and elves adding to the toast, and all claiming the day was a joyful one indeed, Annatar stood, dark as the night, his eyes ablaze, a dreaming wizard, a spiteful fay, amidst the crowd. He was untouched by the merriment, and the colors of the elven folk, which now stood up to dance and sing in the hall next to that one, where the fire was, did not stir him. Galadriel gazed in quiet wander. He, draped in black, his eyes fires, with a secret smile, was like an image of the first age she had thought long gone by, amidst the merry folk of Eriador. Their garments, in brown, green and yellow passed around him, and he continued there, unaware, his cup in his hand. Some tapped him on the back as they passed by, and most smiled, but none seem to notice the quite power she sensed, and the strangeness of that man.  
  
She got up then, since she did not want him to notice she was staring. Annatar stirred, and walked to her, now that the room was almost empty, and all were heading to the Hall of Fire. His eyes were still ablaze, but present, and he smiled at her, but differently. It was a smile of recognition, and she sensed he was pleased she was there.  
  
"Annatar" she whispered, suddenly wanting to be alone with him  
  
"My lady" He said, stopping very close to her. She looked up at the fiery eyes, and that chest next to her. He stood much taller than she, and his shoulders were massive, blocking the light of the candles and torches blazing from the pillars and the walls behind him.  
  
"Will you go to the Hall of Fire? I deem they will expect you. And ask you to sing" She said, in as soft a voice as she could.  
  
He smiled "I should." The smile still played on his lips, changing into a more cynical one. She noticed.  
  
"But you do not want to. Wont you rather sit with me outside, if you would? There is a wind, and it seems wild. It is probably cold too, but I feel like clearing my head." He felt so warm, standing close to her like that. Her voice was again but a whisper, it seemed as though those eyes enraptured her, and she could not talk much, or even think clearly.  
  
"I'd rather be outside, yes." He whispered back, leaning forward. "I'd rather be in the wind".  
  
This frightened her, because he was suddenly too close. His face was but inches away from hers, and he looked so high and strong . No matter how much closer they had been, sometimes his moves seemed dangerous. His eyes were ablaze, staring down at her, the fire in them red, and the brims black. Like a wolfs eyes, she thought. Like that wolf she had once met, in the snow. Annatar was darkness and shadow and flame now, and she backed a bit away. They were alone in the room, for all had left, and she suddenly wished for Celebrimbor.  
  
Oh, why? She thought. Why did I have to give in like that. Years and years of serenity, and then a Lord looks at me, and I give myself to him. And now, I fear him, and I have to play this strange game.. And how he is staring at me, as though he could kill and eat me now, if it wasn't for the others being so close..  
  
"Let's go outside" Annatar said, enjoying the fear in her eyes. He had not meant to frighten her, but his thought were on the gold of today, and on his plan, and without wishing it, they must have transmitted, since she was cowering and unsure before him. He stood tall, and dark, and the flame in his pupils increased. His voice was commanding, ans she saw not the handsome Lord Annatar, but a different creature, or power and strength, a Maia in the shape of a tall man, and deadly, and dangerous.  
  
"I said that, you know, but to think better, it could be too cold. Let's instead got to the Hall. We've lingered here enough. We must be expected" She snapped, suddenly aware of the situation. How inappropriate. She had stayed with him too long even in here, alone. Enough to let for whispers to begin. And to walk out like so, into the night. It would not dfo, not at all.  
  
She tried to convince herself she was only caring for demeanor. However, she knew better. Annatar's eyes had a flame that frightened her, and she was scared of following this strange being outside just then. She felt cold, all of a sudden, and perplexed. How could someone that seemed so pleasing one moment, suddenly change so much. A wind seemed to catch her, even in the warm room and she braced herself, from the chill.  
  
The room began changing then, and she thought she half-heard a chant coming form somewhere. A slow chant, in an ancient tongue. Suddenly she realized she had to get out of there. The light in the candles flickered low, and the wind became more powerful and colder. How was there a wind in the closed room? Suddenly, as Annatar's eyes began to form into two orbs of darkness and fire, the hairs on her neck stood. The room was almost dark now, all lights having dimmed to the lowest, and the shiniest thing in it were the eyes which increased in glow, a yellowish glow, as the room itself dimmed. The wind held a whisper in it, and a menace. Galadriel shuddered, in panic. The wind picked Annatar's robe, and he looked as if flying, a dark raven with unnatural eyes. She mustered her strength, and in a bolt, tried to pass by him, escaping his gaze, and made for the door, but in a swift move, he grabbed her arm, and pulled her to him.  
  
It was impulsive, and he was shocked by it too, although he didn't let that show. Frightening her as he just did, for the sake simply of showing his power, was really foolish. But he did impulsive things at times, and Galadriel was his new toy.  
  
Yet still, the manner she just bolted like that, instead of cowering in fear, as anyone else would have done, surprised him. She was brave.  
  
And there was something else.  
  
Annatar had played his game today well, and he knew that the plan was workingl. But to have to gaze at those elven faces some more, to listen to the shallow words, to participate in another meaningless conversation, to obey Celebrimbor, to play another song, to play another part.. He was tired, and he felt trapped. A trap of his own devise, but a trap: not freedom. And he longed for freedom. When Galadriel stood up, just now, in white, and small and slender compared to the elven lords around her, when she stood, and he looked at her, he knew that with her he was safe. He could relax, and let go, and be as much himself as he ever dared. She had a power in her, to make him want to just forget everything. It was her that allowed him to actually rest, and really sleep, for the first time while he was here. Ever had he felt threatened, or annoyed, or busy planning, or studying, or wandering in the night alone to lay and rest. But in her warm bed, with her hand on him, and her body soft and close to his, he felt peaceful, and afe, and eh elt go, and closed his eyes, and sleep came.  
  
The dreams which haunted him, and for which he did not dare sleep, did not come that night.  
  
"Come with me outside" he said, pulling her into an embrace. Galadriel tried to pull away, frightened, but realized could not. His hand was as steel, and his look determined. The voice was soft, and persuasive, though. "No, Annatar. Let me go! Someone could see, and you know I don't want that!" She was suddenly annoyed. How stupid! Of course he would have all types of demands, since he thought she was his.  
  
"Galadriel" he whispered, and suddenly felt a fire inside him grow. She was soft and gentle, but her hair in the light of the candles, her lips, pressed together, those eyes gazing in anger up at him, he remembered her in his embrace, and suddenly desired her. So he pulled her closer, clasping her to his chest. She struggled a little, but he held firmly, and when she was sure she could not escape, she settled there in resignation.  
  
"Galadriel" he repeated, now softer. How odd, he thought. She was acting with him as if nothing at all had happened between them. He did not want that. And he did not want her frightened, or leaving him.  
  
"Let's then go to the Hall" he said, attempting to soothe her. He had been stupid, and he wanted her now. He had to let her trust him again. But when she looked up again at him, after a while, he shuddered, and backed away.  
  
She was crying.  
  
He stood there for a while, not really understanding, and then, since she hadn't moved, embraced her again. "Did I frighten you?" This was not good. If someone went to look for them, and saw her standing and crying, it would not do him well. And just the fact that he had made Galadriel, the greatest of the Noldo of Middle Earth, the fearless White Lady cry was startling.  
  
"No, don't.." he tried, as she began sobbing against this shoulder.  
  
'Annatar" she whispered softly, and clutched to him. He did not know what to do, so he picked her up, and took her out of the room, and through the corridors, outside. Their rooms were far on the other end of the gardens, and he was not sure what she wanted, but he knew that he could not let anyone see this.  
  
She did not raise her head from his shoulder, or move as he did all that. She seemed to have slumped into his embrace, or fallen asleep, and it felt like carrying a child, for she was light. "Galadriel.." he called, and she stirred, still crying.  
  
"Annatar, just don't leave me" she said, in a meek voice. The though of his just leaving her there, and going to join the party, as she remained crying in the cold night was unbearable. He sensed a deep pain inside her, and sat down in a shaded place, beneath the bows of a bush, and brought her closer. The night was very cold, and the air around them black. He began rocking her, not really knowing why.  
  
"I shan't leave you." He answered, suddenly really sorry. 


End file.
